Blood On My Name
by Charly Mae
Summary: The Danish Mafia is alive and well in the majour cities of Germany. However, when faced with sabotage and a heavy sentence, Matthias has to use his wit to find his way out from the harsh eyes of the law and eliminate a threat from the East: the Russian Mafia.
1. Prologue

**_Author's Note: Hello and welcome to an old idea that I never really got to writing down. I tend to write about the realistics but I wanted to go outside of my usual circle and go for something a bit more action-y and maybe even suspenseful. Believe it or not, I've actually planned out the plot of the story and I am personally proud of my motivation with this project. So, without further ado, a give you a little Mafia!AU._**

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><p>A young man strolled around the corner of a block, making his way onto another street. Like dozens of people around him, he was dressed for the weather. The boy wore a thick, bubbly red coat and a black scarf wrapped around his neck. Gloved hands were shoved into the warm pockets of his jacket. It was nearing the end of autumn and the winter winds were beginning to pick up speed. With a shiver, the boy dug his chin further into the fleeting warmth of his scarf and walked down the street until he reached a coffee shop- Starbucks.<p>

He entered the building, releasing a sigh of content as the heat of a thermostat warmed his toes. He stepped in a short line, ordering a cup of coffee before hearing his name.

"Matthias!"

He turned his head and laid eyes on his childhood friend, Berwald Oxenstirena. A broad smile lifted his face as he made his way to the small rounded table where Berwald sat with his own beverage.

"Ber! Glad to see you're early!" Matthias beamed, resting a brotherly arm on his friend's shoulder.

"Late as usual," Berwald scoffed, pushing up his glasses and taking a sip of coffee.

Matthias snickered, "Ever expected me to change?" Moments later, he heard his order being called out. "One sec," he grinned as he quickly grabbed his hot cup of coffee. When Mathias returned, he took the seat across from the Swede. There was a moment of silence.

"So," Matthias cleared his throat, "what have you been up to?"

Berwald shrugged, "Nothing much but savin' yer ass all weekend,"

Matthias groaned, "Oh, shut up. You know why I can't let my old man find out I've been taking some of his jobs!"

"And when he finds out, I'm denying everything,"

"As the next head of this organization, I think I should be able to do whatever the hell I want. Just because hasn't given me an official job yet doesn't mean that I'm not ready for whatever he throws at me," Matthias protested, angrily drinking his drink- resulting in a burnt tongue. Genius.

Berwald's light blue eyes gave his Danish friend a hard glare. "Your arrogance is the reason he turns you down, Matthias,"

The boy sat utterly dumbfounded for a moment. Matthias's much darker blue eyes gave the expression of a raging hurricane. His window to snarl a retort slammed shut as his message notification went off. Rolling his eyes, Matthias reached down into his pocket and pulled out his cell phone. Flashing on the screen was a text under the name RATCHET GAMLE MAND. He still chuckled out of that name. The Dane had learned the word ratchet from the son of an American colleague and he found it rather entertaining. Matthias opened the message and read: _We need to talk. Swing by the base and come by my office. I'm waiting, don't test my patience._

Matthias sighed and threw his phone back into his pocket. "Speak of the devil. Pops wants to see me right now," He stood up with his coffee in hand, "Walk with me?"

Berwald took a sip of his drink, "Got nothing better to do," The Swede rose out of his seat, "_Låt oss gå_,"

The companions walked out of Starbucks and walked towards their destination. Matthias looked up at the sky spotted with skyscrapers and blinking antennae. The nearest of those scaling buildings was no more than five blocks away. At the top of the building, a bold title read _Urd-Rikke Inc._ - a Køhler family business.

"What do you think he wants?" Matthias asked, taking a sip of his coffee as they waited for the streetlight to change.

"I'm not a psychic."

Matthias rolled his eyes, "Oh, haha. Very funny,"

"I know."

A couple of minutes later, the boys arrived at the company building. They entered through rotating doors and were welcomed by the employees behind the front desk. Mathias and Berwald walked into the lobby. The flooring was a beautifully patterned mosaic complimented by soft colours, brilliant architecture, and fancy furnishings equip with a live band playing in the center of the main floor.

"I don't think I can come in with ya," Berwald muttered when they stepped into the elevator.

Mathias punched in a set of numbers to the pin code pad and pressed the topmost floor. "What? Why?"

"I wouldn't exactly be your wing man if you've been caught,"

The Dane looked personally offended, "You weren't joking?"

Berwald cocked his head to the side, "I tell jokes?"

"No, you play mind games,"

The elevator came to a stop on the highest floor and its doors slid open, leading into a spacious office with a plethora of decorations. Matthias stepped out onto the floor and knocked on a wooden bookshelf nearby. "Dad, I'm here," He walked further into the office and investigated the area to find that his father was nowhere in sight. The Dane clucked his tongue, "He tells me not to be late and the one time I'm here, he's not,"

Berwald threw his empty cup of coffee in the trash bin. "Just think of all the times you've been late to clear your conscience,"

Matthias scowled, taking his father's leather seat behind his mahogany desk. He sorted through the organized piles of paper that filled the cleared spaces on the desk surface. He noted files of important clients, contracts that needed to be carried out, lists of individuals indebted to the company's affairs, and associate information.

"Shouldn't be lookin' through those," Berwald muttered, sitting in a chair in front of Matthias.

He ignored his friend and proceeded to scan through the files. His searching came to an abrupt stop when the soft ding of the elevator door opening made Matthias scramble to his feet. A smirk grew on Berwald's face. The Dane mouthed, _"Knep dig selv."_

When his father stepped out, he held his cellphone up to his ear, wrapping up a conversation in German. "Yes, yes. I'll see that it's taken care of immediately. _Danke_," He hung up and looked up at his son and Berwald who congregated around his desk. No doubt his son was snooping around yet again. "You're actually on time for once. Proud of you, son," he teased, making a language transition to Danish.

"And the one time I am, I have to wait on you," Matthias gave his father a hug. "_Hvordan går det går, gamle mand_?"

"Business as usual," he turned his attention to the Swede who had already nodded his acknowledgements. "Oh come now, Ber. I've known you since you were a little newborn with a little tuft of hair on your head. Give me a hug, son!"

Mathias smirked and pulled Berwald into a group hug. "Welcome to the family,_ bror_,"

They broke apart and Matthias's father wasted no time getting down to business. "Now, Matthias- and you too Berwald, will be twenty-six as of June. One year closer to becoming wiser in the eyes of society. But, in this business, you aren't seen as an official member until you've received your first job," He took his place behind the desk before continuing. "As the heir to this company and legacy of the mafia, you won't be getting any simple contracting job, no. I'm bringing you along to a pickup," He pulled up a map on his desktop screen and gestured for the boys to take a look. Matthias and Berwald moved behind the desk and looked at a red mark that a warehouse just outside of Velten*. "We pick up the drugs and get out with the least amount of trouble. I doubt anyone will try and steal our shipment, but there is always a possibility,"

"A shipment? How many men are we bringing?"

"A little over a dozen- I'll have my men and three in a separate division,"

"Three?" Berwald raised an eyebrow.

"Yes, three- Matthias, yourself, and Lukas. He's one of our transfer members,"

Matthias stood back and pondered. Who was Lukas? He'd heard of the mafia getting a new family into the group but he never got the chance to meet any of them. Once again the elevator doors slid open and a boy around their age stepped out. He was about two inches shorter than Matthias and like most he was blonde and had deep navy blue eyes and a clip in the shape of a cross held his hair back. He walked up to the desk, removing his coat, "You wanted to see me, Mr. Køhler?"

_Norwegian_, Matthias thought, looking at the boy that was but a yard or two away from him.

"Ah, Lukas! Glad to see you could make it. I was just explaining to these two what you will be doing tonight,"

"Tonight?" Matthias roared, slamming his hands on the desk. "You never said anything about this being today, father!"

His dad raised his shoulders, "Twelve kilograms of cocaine doesn't have a precise delivery date," He took a sip of his coffee, "Sorry to burst your bubble, princess,"

"The least you could have told me was that you were expected a shipment! Instead you take me by surprise!"

"That's the point, Matthias," his father gently set his coffee mug on its place mat. "If I had informed any of you, then your first job wouldn't be as exciting now would it?"

Matthias ran a hand through his hair out of frustration, "What is this? Some kind of test?"

"Precisely," he smiled,

"Don't give me that bullshit!"

"Technically, this whole situation is a test for your abilities as head of the mafia, Matthias." His father simply rose out of his chair and moved about his office. "I have a strong feeling that you three will work together as a close knit group in the future."

"I'm sorry, what?"

"I have no doubt that Berwald will keep your ego in check, but Lukas can keep my conscience clear of the fight you two break out into every chance you get,"

Matthias looked at the Norwegian and sighed heavily, "Fine. Fine, whatever you want, Pops. What time are we heading out?"

"In three hours. That should be enough time for you to get well acquainted with Lukas. Now," he called for the elevator and stepped aside for the boys to go in, "see you in a bit,

The ride down was awkward- the only sound was the uncomfortable elevator music. Berwald and Matthias leaned against one wall while Lukas did the other, looking down with his arms folded across his chest.

"So," Matthias cleared his throat, "Lukas, right? Norwegian?"

Lukas nodded, keeping his eyesight focused downward.

"Okay... Cool. Where did you transfer from?"

"Finland,"

The corner's of Matthias's lips twitched. "Cool, cool. That's pretty cool," He turned over to Berwald and muttered in Swedish, "He's not very outspoken, is he?"

Berwald shrugged, "Never really talked to him much. He talks when he wants to, I guess?"

"An introvert?"

"You think everyone is an introvert,"

The two had completely forgotten of the Norwegian's existence until they heard a dry cough from the other end of the elevator. "You know I can understand every word you're saying right?" he announced in flawless Swedish.

Both Matthias and Berwald looked like deer caught in headlights. _He knows Swedish?!_ Mathias laughed awkwardly and rubbed the back of his neck, "R-really?"

"Really,"

Berwald cleared his throat, "Er... so want to get a snack with us before we-"

"Goddammit!" Mathias shouted, frantically mashing down the top floor button as the elevator doors slid open to the lobby.

Lukas raised an eyebrow, "Are you okay?"

"I left my coffee in that old man's office!"

The boys sat inside of a pastry shop, munching on a box of sweets they bought to eat together. Matthias shoved another doughnut hole in his mouth, "Wait wait.. How many languages do you know?"

Lukas groaned, "I just told you!"

"Well I wasn't paying attention,"

"You n'ver pay attention," Berwald jutted.

Rolling his eyes, Lukas counted them off, "Norwegian, Icelandic, Swedish, Danish, Finnish, German, English, and a bit of Russian. I haven't touched up on it in a while,"

Matthias held up nine fingers, "That's nine languages!"

"I thought everyone knew at least five. Or maybe that's just my family..."

"We only know four!"

"Close, but that's your loss," Lukas popped a chocolate doughnut hole onto his tongue.

The Dane gawked until Berwald put his hand under Mathias's jaw and closed it shut. "A bug's gonna fly in yer mouth one day,"

"Okay, mother," Matthias rolled his eyes.

Berwald looked down at his watch. " 's six forty-seven. C'mon, let's go ahead and get back to the base,"

They quickly scared down the remained doughnuts and made their way out of the shop.

"Twelve kilograms..." Matthias muttered, "That's a lot of coke. Wonder how that got smuggled,"

"D'finitely not up someone's ass," Berwald zipped up his coat as a cold winter breeze brushed away some warmth.

"Doesn't matter. We pay up and we get our drugs. Simple as that," Lukas said, crossing the street when the sign gave the go-ahead. When the three reached the skyscraper, Matthias's father was already loading into a sleek, black Hummer- the signature cruising vehicle of the _Urd-Rikke_ business. The boys crossed the street one final time and Matthias knocked on the dark tinted window on the second car of three.

"Dad, open up," The glass rolled down, revealing his father fashioning a pair of shades, "What car are we in?"

"This one," the backseat door opened, welcoming its three guests to have a seat. Matthias's father crossed his legs as the boys piled inside in the order of Berwald, Lukas and lastly Matthias. He felt slightly uncomfortable. Not only was he not beside Berwald but he was also sitting next to a kid the both of them just met a couple of hours ago.

I feel like this was premeditated. And as if the Swede was telepathic, he looked at the Dane and flashed a teasing smirk seemingly telling him to deal with it. "To Velten right?" Matihias asked, resting his elbow on the plastic part of the car door.

His father nodded, "What we want is just outside of the town. We get what we need and head out,"

"What's the game plan?" Lukas asked. "Positions? Instructions?"

With a flick of the wrist, Matthias's father motioned for the driver to begin their hour's journey to Velten. He reached for a can of Coca-Cola in the cup holder, opening it with its renowned hiss. "You three will be handed a handgun. I trust you can handle a pistol," he teased taking a sip of his soda. "Now, your job is simple: patrol the area. The cocaine is basically ours but we've to pay our dues to the dealer. It's won't take long, only but a couple of minutes and then the drugs are loaded into the cars and lastly drop them off at our own warehouses for safe-keeping,"

"Then what?"

"Why you get your own jobs of course! They'll start out small but as you gain experience, things will liven up,"

Matthias turned to gaze out the window and he watched the walkers go by as the vehicle accelerated. It would be about an hour until they arrived to their destination. He thought it best to remain sharp but the soft hum of the engine helped him doze off. Minutes before the arrival, Matthias was nudged in his rib cage. His eyes opened and groggily looked over at the Norwegian beside him

"Get up. We'll be at the warehouse soon,"

The Dane nodded only to rest his head on the window and close his eyes once more. "Five more minutes,"

"You've already had three 'five minutes',"Berwald reached over Lukas and repeatedly flicked Matthias's cheek. "Wake up,"

He slapped away the Swede's hand and yawned. "Alright, alright, fine. Could've woken me up when we got there..."

"Serious situations don't mix well with post-nap grog, Matthias,"

"Aw, shaddap," he groaned, scratching his head. "The caffeine wore off and I'm still recovering from the crash,"

"Then you'd best get yourself together, kid," his father started, "Five more kilometers to go,"

When the trio of black Hummers pulled up to a maintenance storehouse, the men wasted no time hopping out of the cars and getting straight to business. The driver's popped the trunks and the men retrieved n automatic rifle from black bags. "Now remember," Matthias's father stepped out of the car, lighting himself a smoke, "patrol and stay out of trouble. Understand?" Matthias and Berwald figured that he was talking to them in particular; nonetheless, the three gave a curt _Yes, sir_ and grabbed their own weapons.

Matthias watched as his father gave orders, holding a cigarette in between is fingers and hand casually shoved in his pocket. Without a doubt his dad looked classy and intimidating in his get up: suit, shades, cigarette and all. The facade he'd created was amazing- one moment he was a quirky father the next he was the head of the Danish mafia. He felt an elbow dig into his side and he looked up at Berwald who gestured for the Dane to get to work. Bringing himself out of his thoughts, Matthias nodded, removed the safety of his pistol and took the left side of the warehouse.

What a bland job, Matthias complained, readjusting his scarf as the wind picked up speed. He glanced down at his attire and sucked his teeth. All the other men were dressed in warm formal-wear and looked far more professional than Berwald, Lukas, and himself. Why hadn't they been given uniforms for the occasion? The Dane huffed and turned his attentions to the open, dry and empty land surrounding the warehouse. There's no one to be seen for miles. Why would the old man need to assign a patrolling unit?

Inside the building was a whole other world of business. Mathias's father puffed on his cigarette as he leaned over a table, discussing matters with the dealer. His men went through the checklist as they inspected the neat stack of cocaine cradled in plastic peanuts inside boxes that read FRAGILE. The Dane was handed a briefcase a moment later and he placed it on the metal table, popping the latches and opening the lid to unveil a supplement of euros.

"There it is," he said, tapping off the ash at the end of his cigarette, "approximately a quarter of a million in American currency,"

The dealer's eyes grew large as he gawked down at the hundreds upon hundreds of bills crammed into one space. With a grin on his face, the man closed the briefcase and held out his hand, "Always a pleasure working with you, Nathan,"

"The pleasure is mine as long as you stay loyal, my friend," he smiled, accepting the other's handshake. The two conversed a while more before the business partner's parted ways. The Dane began reciting orders his men had heard time and time again- "get these babies loaded!", "no slacking, pick up the pace!", "it's freezing out here, hurry up,". They had it all memorized as a script in a play until an unfamiliar bang was added to the soundtrack.

Nathan turned on his heel with a raised eyebrow. He reached into his suit and pulled out a revolver. "Who shot that?" he questioned with a deathly serious tone. The collective silence between his colleagues was enough of an answer to clear his conscience. "Get the drugs out of a line of fire,"

With quiet nods, the men moved the cocaine out of harm's way and immediately took cover behind the stacks of boxes. All other than Nathan. He stood in the open, leaning on his left leg. The Dane took a drag off of his shrinking cigarette and sighed, letting the smoke escape from his nostrils. "None of my men are injured," he said loudly, "It'd be foolish to think that a hostile marksman took out a good associate of mine now wouldn't I?"

There was a moment of unbearable silence until a small chuckle rose out into the still air of the warehouse. A man emerged from behind a wall with a firearm in hand and a bloody briefcase in the other. "No, I don't think that'd be foolish in the slightest," teased a voice heavily accented with Russian.

Nathan's eyes narrowed, "Winter- finally come out from retirement have you?"

The Russian smiled cynically. "I let you grow only so I could destroy the power you have, Nathan. I couldn't let you keep your glory for too long else you'd get too cocky and disregard needed positions... Things like watch duty,"

A wave of fear rushed up Nathan's spine as he near lost his suave composure, "What have you done to my son, Winter?"

The Dane's rival maintained the same mask he displayed and laughed manically, "I wouldn't dare lay a finger on your boy's head, nor any of his friends. Though, I wouldn't be worrying about them in your current situation," He glanced over his shoulder and found his men held at gunpoint and as he turned around to face the Russian, he was greeted with a gun barrel. "It's been a pleasure refueling the rivalry between us, dear Nathan Køhler,"

Matthias awoke to a horrible ringing in his ears. He opened his eyes, his vision was blurred and his mind spun as he tried to work his way through a state of confusion. He looked around dizzily and found his friends lying on the cold ground near him.

"Berwald," he coughed, "Lukas," Matthias struggled to push himself up as a surge of fiery pain forced him back down. He grunted, cringing, and rolling on his side as a peak of his pain subdued. Once again, Mathias made an attempt to rise off the ground but was held back by a foot that thrust the Dane's face back into the dirt.

"Ah, ah, ah! Where do you think you're going?" called a terrifyingly playful voice.

Matthias gazed up at a figure silhouetted by a bright LED light above. The sky had grown dark for daylight savings and the chill of winter was all the more unwelcoming. "Wh... who are...?"

"I am Ivan Braginski," he answered- by the sound of his voice, he was smiling. "And you're Matthias Køhler," Before the Dane could respond, Ivan continued to name the others, "The one with the glasses is Berwald Oxenstirena and the other is Lukas Bondveik," He moved over to the motionless Norwegian and twirled a single lock of hair around his index finger. "_дядя Зимняя_, _Uncle Winter_ says that I can take one of you home to play with for a while. I want to take all of you but he will only like me take one,"

Matthias was beyond confusion. What was this guy talking about? His name was obviously Russian yet it was so familiar... Why couldn't he figure out why the name Braginski name rang so many bells? The Dane rolled onto his stomach and proceeded to crawl over to his Swedish friend whose glasses were cracked horribly in the middle of one lens. "Ber," he whispered, giving him a shove on the shoulder. Berwald didn't budge. Matthias tried again, raising his voice and still he got nothing in response. "Dammit, Berwald, wake up!" he raised his arm to slap the Swede square across the face but Ivan grabbed his wrist and took a seat on the Dane's back, crushing him under his weight. Mathias cried out, his mouth being covered by the Russian's hand.

"I thought I told you not to move," he growled.

"Got to hell," Mathias bit down on Ivan's ring finger.

A small amount of blood blossomed out of the bite mark. Ivan smiled, licking it off as he grabbed a fistful of Matthias's blonde hair. "You don't listen to simple instructions do you? I see you must not have any manners either. I guess you'll be the one I take; I'll be sure to teach you proper etiquette and you'll be like my little pet for the day. How does that sound?"

The Dane shouted, squirmed and put up quite the fight as Ivan dragged in a position of manipulation. Ivan took Matthias into the warehouse by his hair and he rambled on and on about all of the "games" they would play together, and the more he talked, the more the Dane realized that Ivan was around his age if not younger. When they entered the building it smelled of gunpowder and blood. The scent was so overwhelming that Matthias found the strength to push away from Ivan and throw up in a cover. Ivan let him do so but as soon as he finished, he took him by the hair again and set him down by some boxes when they rounded a corner.

"Uncle!" Ivan called, "I brought my pet!"

Matthias overlooked many unfamiliar faces and, apparently, this Winter was one of them. The towering Russian walked over to the Dane and lifted his chin up by the barrel of his gun, inspecting his nephew's trophy. "Choosing the next in command to the mafia? Good choice,"

He giggled, taking the Dane's hands behind his back, and putting a zip-tie around Matthias's wrists. He pulled the end through, making sure that it was as tight as possible and smiled down at his hostage, "Just in case you think you can run away,"

Matthias did his best to focus on the current situation, but everything was moving at a fast pace and it was proving difficult for him to keep up. His vision was still going in and out of crystal and blurred but as he sat upright against the stacks of boxes he was set near, the Dane began to get a better look of his surroundings. What he saw was enough to make him regurgitate once again. Matthias had discovered the source of the putrid smell in the air: A couple of meters away was a small heap of bodies that belonged to his father's colleagues. Near the pile lay his father on his side, his back was facing Mathias and a pool of blood encircled his body, soaking his once perfect suit.

"Dad..." he croaked.

No answer.

"Dad...!" he repeated, his voice cracking.

Not even the slightest movement. Panic welled up inside him, tightening his chest and shortening his breath.

Winter looked down at the helpless Dane and showcased a sinister expression. "Oh, right, about your father: I'm afraid he's-" The man broke out into a ghastly fit of laughter as he kicked the limp body over on its side. The once glorious figure of Matthias's father was desecrated by a single bullet. The poor old man's eyes were wide open, his blue irises forever capturing his final thoughts and expressions.

"A quick death, but I honestly should have told him that you were being tortured. That would have been a much more entertaining face to see!" Winter snickered. "Now that would have been a memory I would truly cherish,"

Matthias felt hot tears rolling down his cheeks, stinging the apparent cuts he had on his face. "You monster. You murderer!"

Ivan dug his heel into the Dane's thigh. "Calling someone a monster isn't nice, you know. Insulting my family was a terribly mistake on your part," There must have been a bullet shell in Matthias's thigh because the searing pain he felt was far too much for a bruise. The Russian pushed down hard, lodging the projectile deeper into the Dane's tissues, producing further cries and tears from Matthias.

"Now, now, Ivan," Winter waved for him to move his foot, "teach the boy his lesson later." He pointed to the bags of drugs that were now in Russian possession as they were carried away. "Our message has been sent and received. _Пойдем._ Let's go,"

Pouting, Ivan took hold of Matthias's bonds and yanked him off to a posse of the Russian mafia's cars. He was thrown in the trunk and when the door closed, he was encased in a pocket of darkness. The air was stuffy and the scent was stifling. He didn't have the energy to kick and scream or fight. All he could do was close his eyes and wait.

Engines started and cars began to drive. Matthias counted them as they drove off in different intervals. _One... Two... Three... Four... Five..._ And finally the sixth began to roll off on its departing route. However, Mathias heard gunshots and surprised Russian voices. The Dane was jerked backwards as the driver slammed on the brakes.

_What's going on?_ he thought, feeling a bit frantic. More shouts and the firing of arms spouted until it suddenly came to an eerie end. Matthias waited an agonizing several moments, anticipating either his rescue or pending torture. The trunk flew open, letting the blinding LED lights flood in.

"Matthias!" panted the exhausted voice of Lukas. "Berwald, thank God, he's in here!"

* * *

><p><em>*Velten is a small town about 40 minutes from Berlin<em>

_Russian translations in the story._

_Translations:_

_gamle mand = old man_

__Låt oss gå = Let's go__

__Knep dig selv = Fuck you__

__Hvordan går det går, gamle mand? = How's it going, old man?__

__bror = brother__

__Any other translations were addressed directly after it being said.__

__...__

_Much thanks and love to my editor xxGeoAngelxx_

_See you next time...!_


	2. Chapter 1

**_Seven years later…_**

The strobe lights were heavy, the beat intoxicating, and the room was scorching. Though the air conditioner was on full-blast, the dance-floor was unbelievably hot and crowded. Drunks toppled over one another failing to laugh over the DJ's blaring playlists. Couples (or maybe even strangers) were locked in passionate kisses, and the limited amount of sober minds tried their best to shy away from the chaos. This was a typical Saturday night and _BeLow_, the centric hubbub of German nightlife. So, naturally, it was deemed the best club in Munich.

Behind a set of velvet ropes and one-way windows was the VIP section of _BeLow_- a place where all of Europe's top officials drank, gambled, and smoked. Here, these mainstream men and women of the continent had a bar just for the VIP members and their own special entertainment. Comedians, strippers, or musicians; whatever they'd like.

But that was the socialite half of _BeLow_. What a vast majourity did not know what kind of territory lurked just above their noses. It was a place of business for the Urd-Rikke company. Actually, come to think of it, this whole facility was run by a Danish establishment. The real question here is what didn't Urd-Rikke own? The name was certainly plastered all over Germany but the arms of the industry extended over many parts of Western Europe. The name was on cars, appliances, cell phones, anything. Anything and everything, whether it be owned by Urd-Rikke or sponsored by it, there was no escaping it.

And at the top of it all stood a charismatic young man named Søren Andresson, or as known to the public, Matthias Køhler.

"I don't think I made myself very clear to you," Matthias stopped circling a client and pulled the man up by his collar, "We had a deal. A very specific and simple deal. If you placed exactly one hundred and nine euros on the table for fifteen games, you'd make it big." The Dane's eyes hardened as he tightened his grip on the trembling German's button-up. "Why did you chicken out, Mauer?"

"M-my family!" the man croaked. "The gambling has taken a toll on things, like bills, you see. There's not enough food on the table and there isn't enough money to go around for my wife and children…"

Matthias nodded sympathetically, understanding the middle-aged man's plea. "I see; I see. Mind's on the family, is that it?" Mauer vigorously nodded. "Funny how quickly one's mind can change. I remember when you were nothing but a gluttonous drunkard who had a gambling issue," His blue eyes scanned over the man and his nose crinkled. "Seems you are a weasel too." Matthias dropped the German back onto his metal seat, making his way over to a table by the wall. "Nothing can excuse your lack of loyalty to your contract, Mauer. Unfortunately for you, your poor life decisions have landed you ten more games."

"_Was!_ But you can't-"

"Oh, but I can," Matthias smiled innocently, "I have your contract right here. Do you remember signing this? Of course you do, as any responsible family man like you would." The Dane delicately lifted the document and looked to a highlighted article. "Article three states clearly that if the client fails to proceed as directed and or step down from his or her position, an additional five to ten games shall be placed on their quota." Matthias glared towards the shivering German. "Oh, I'm sorry, am I making you uncomfortable? Do I need to repeat myself?"

With a visible gulp, the gambler shook his head, eyes dropping. "I understand,_ Herr Andersson_,"

The tension in Matthias' shoulders faded with a sigh of relief. "Good, good. I was afraid we'd have to take to more persuasive tactics." He shuffled over to the table and began packing up his things: folders, pencil case, contracts, money, et cetera. Once ready, Matthias looked to a soldier* who stood at attention and awaited orders. "See to it that Herr Mauer is escorted off of the premises and that he does as he's told this time."

With a nod, the unreasonably large man hoisted the German to his feet and led him to the exit.

Matthias' posture dropped as soon as he was alone. Shaking out any remaining strain off his shoulders, Matthias ran a hand through his hair and made his way down to the VIP lounge.

"_Herr Køhler_!" A German politician called out, "Come join me for a drink!"

Matthias raised his hand in decline. "A tempting offer, but if I don't get going now, I'll be late for a date,"

There was a catcall from the back. "Who's the lucky lady?"

"Oh no, no, no, gentleman. You all know very well that I don't swing that way," the Dane chuckled. "Tonight's my birthday. My friend and my partner are dining out this evening,"

"Congratulations on aging!" Drunken laughs and cheers burst throughout the room.

"Congrats on getting laid later tonight, too, right?" Another burst of laughter followed by a toast. With a smile, Matthias thanked the crowd and made his exit.

Elsewhere, Berwald and Lukas lounged on cushions placed on the floors of a Mediterranean restaurant. Bali music played and belly dancers roamed from table to table with euros and US dollars bulging from their waists.

"Another ten minutes and he'll be late," Lukas grumbled.

"He won't be late, Lukas," Berwald noted. "Never early, but never late either."

"Yeah, yeah,"

The Dane didn't show for another seven minutes. "I'm here!" he proclaimed, lips curling. "Of course you are," Berwald clapped his friend's shoulder as he joined them, sitting criss-cross in his chair like a child. "I could see your hair over the crowd."

"Aw, you're so mean," Gone was his suit, in favor of more comfortable attire: a pair of blue jeans and a plaid button up. "Glad to know you two didn't start eating without me,"

Lukas snorted, "Oh we've already ordered. If the pizza had already been out here there wouldn't be anything left for you,"

"So considerate,"

"Don't worry," Berwald reassured, "we ordered two. There's no way you and I could share one pizza."

"I still don't know how you two can eat so much," Lukas shook his head but raised a beer bottle to the air. "Well, happy thirty-second to the both of you. For Matthias today, and Berwald tomorrow,"

The other two men followed the Norwegian's example and raised their drinks as well, all three bottles coming together in a satisfactory clink.

That was the typical life of the trio: day in and day out, they would deal with their typical business and later go out to eat if no one was too busy or tired. Over the past couple of years, Matthias had made many improvements to Urd-Rikke. The mafia-run company was mainly industrial: it controlled a wide variety of businesses having to do with construction, accounting, entertainment, and convenience goods. Really just about anything you can imagine. Urd-Rikke no longer took part in underground transactions of drugs. That had been taken over by the Russians, an opposing gang under the name FuseNett.

As far as Matthias was concerned, the night was a fantastic reason to drink to his heart's content. Between the pizza and birthday cake, he indulged in a bottle or two of beer. The night rolled on and Matthias felt like he could party all evening. A shame Lukas wouldn't let him. The Norwegian ended up with the task of dragging the Dane home. Per usual.

Stumbling up the stairs, Matthias sang loudly enough to be heard within a thirty kilometer radius. An irritated Lukas following behind.

"_Det hedder gamle DANMARK, og det er Frejas sal!_" He giggled, flopping face down onto the bed. There was a pause. "_Det er et yndigt land, det står med brede bøge_..."

Lukas shook his head, tuning out the Dane's horrid pitches and worked on getting him undressed. "Stop squirming, idiot. Take off your belt."

"Or, you could take it off for me," Matthias chimed. "Not like you haven't done it before- Ow! Hey that hurts!"

The Norwegian ignored the Dane's whining and tugged on his ear again so he was sitting up straight. He removed his shirt and his belt as quickly as one could off of a squirming idiot, then let Matthias fall back into his previous position. "There, now you won't hurt yourself."

"Hurt myself? Yeah right! I'm invincible!" He cried out again when Lukas gave him a tug on the ear. With a pout, he flipped over and stared at the Norwegian as he dug through the dresser. "Are you coming to bed?"

Lukas glanced over his shoulder and nodded, slipping out of his button-up. "In a second," When he was dressed, he crawled underneath the covers in his usual position beside Matthias.

"Yayy!" Matthias smiled, pressing his lips against Lukas' forehead.

Lukas kissed the Dane's collarbone and folded into his arms. "Go to sleep, Matthias," he said, closing his eyes.

"But-"

"Good night,"

When morning came, Matthias battled a hangover. Honestly, one would think that a man who drinks as much as he did would be accustomed to the migraines at this point, but Matthias is special in many ways. Forcing himself out of bed, he shuffled into the bathroom and began the morning routine: take a leak, brush teeth, hop in the shower, shave, so on and so forth. A light scent of bacon and coffee filled the air once Matthias stepped out of a steamy bathroom, face smooth and gym-shorts glad.

Trudging downstairs, Matthias sat down on a stoop by the kitchen counter, placing his elbows on the marble and dropping his face in his palms.

"I'm surprised your liver has held out as long as it has," Lukas japed, sliding a cup of tea and a plate of breakfast towards him. "Don't glare. Eat"

Matthias rolled his eyes, raising the mug to his lips. "Yes, mama,"

After fixing his own plate, Lukas took a seat by Matthias. They ate in silence other than the occasional exchange of seasoning or refills of coffee or tea.

"Hey," Lukas turned to his partner. "Forgetting something?"

"I don't think so," Matthias replied as the Norwegian took the empty plates and placed them in the sink.

"You have a meeting today."

"Great... What time?"

"An hour from now."

"I'm going to have grey hairs early because of you," the Dane grumbled, pushing himself off the stool.

As he moved past him, Lukas gave Matthias a peck on the cheek, and as an afterthought, a quick kiss. "Your fault, not mine."

A big goofy grin spread across Matthias' face. "Morning routine completed."

"Get dressed."

"Don't have to tell me twice."

Once smartly dressed, the Dane waltzed into the garage which showcased a variety of impossibly expensive sports cars. There was a plethora of vehicles of the latest fashion while others were fixed up antiques from the last century. A wonderful spectacle from old to new. Matthias' ride of choice today was a sleek black Jaguar E-Type '65—his "Bond" ride.

"Time for work," Taking his place behind the wheel, Matthias let down its convertible top, slapped on some shades and pulled out into the driveway.

...

Press conferences were never really special, this one included. Matthias mainly explained new affairs with other companies and how Urd-Rikke would continue to grow. Afterwards, Matthias had some other matter to take care of. Without a doubt there would be some other lost cause client who would need straightening out, but for now, the Dane was stuck in the office.

Reclining in the leather armchair behind a mahogany desk, Matthias hit the power button on his desktop and stared down a monstrous stack of papers in front of him. He groaned.

"Here's your caffeine," Matthias peeled his eyes away from his pile of nightmares to see Lukas place a mug of coffee on a coaster next to his keyboard.

"Thanks." he mumbled, bringing the mug to his lips. "Any news worth sharing?"

Lukas hopped up on the desk, crossing his legs. "Depends. What kind of news are you asking for?"

"Politics, sports, foreign affairs- anything really. And if you have anything on the Russians that'd be great too."

Matthias' secretary thought for a moment. "The Russians haven't been doing much to bother us lately. Not directly, anyways. You know how they are; the actual mafia moves around in separate herds. They govern themselves while maintaining the regulations of FuseNet. Recently, a group ganged up on some of our boys while they were out to collect money from the factories in Dresden. Things got a little messy but we took care of it."

"They've been attacking us a lot more often, haven't they?" Matthias asked, taking another sip.

Lukas nodded. "Probably wanting to do some damage, but they've hardly managed so much as a scratch."

"Good, good. Hey, do you think Berwald will stop by today? Or is he doing field work?"

"He's cleaning up whatever mess was left from the fight, and anything else that was left over that exposes the interior of Urd-Rikke. I doubt he'll be able to make a pit stop by lunch."

Matthias pouted. "Damn, and I was really looking forward to slacking off for a while this afternoon."

"That's not an option," Lukas stated, pushing himself off the desk. "I know you see that stack of papers. If you get started now you could be halfway done by lunch."

"You're no fun."

"Being fun isn't in my job description. Get to work."

"No promises." Matthias watched Lukas close the door behind him before cracking his knuckles, whipping out a pen, and sliding closer to the desk.

The day dragged on longer than it should have, especially since the Dane had to juggle much of his schedule. Private meeting here, business calls there, and in between was a pile of death that lie barely touched at the corner of his placemat. Matthias barely had enough time to lounge around. Perhaps this was just one of the many consequences of being the head of a mafia-run company: He was only twenty-three after all. Most people his age would just be graduating from college. As more time slugged by, Matthias had cleared about half of the paperwork and what was finished lied in a neat and ordered stack in the opposite end of the desk. It was four fifty-seven and it was about time the Dane took a well-deserved mental break. Matthias took refuge on a couch on the other side of his office. He propped his feet up on the coffee table and pulled his laptop onto his lap.

There came a timid knock on the door. "Sir, um, Mister Bondevik told me to bring you your coffee. May I come in?"

"Coffee? You certainly may." Matthias waved a boy inside. He was Lukas' new intern, a cherubic man of twenty-one years. "Ah, thank you, Eron." he murmured, lifting the mug to his lips.

"You're welcome, Mister Køhler." Eron promptly left the office and returned to his spot beside Lukas' desk and started typing away. He had some emails to send out for Lukas and Eron had plans to get it done as soon as he could. About ten minutes went by and the boy had barely even cracked the surface of his work. Just within his peripherals, Eron noticed the figure of a tall man approaching. He glancing up to see a man in a navy blue suit walking towards the CEO's office. "Um, e-excuse me, sir, you can't go in there!" Eron called out just as the man moved past his desk. He had on a scarf. How odd to have such an accessory in the dead of summer. It seemed that the poor kid's voice wasn't heard over the man's loud, quick stride. "Sir," Eron started again, raising his voice, "if you don't stop I'll have to call security!"

This time, the scarfed man stopped, turning around to give the intern an unsettling grin. "Oh pardon me. Seems I've forgotten to make an appointment yet again. Remind me to schedule one next time, won't you?" A Russian accent. Could it be...? But it was too late for Eron to ask; the man already disappeared into the Dane's office. "_Privyet_, _Søren_."

Of course, right as Matthias was just starting to get comfy. He looked up tiredly to find Ivan Braginski, the CEO of FuseNet. "Last I checked I had no appointments from five to six forty-five." he remarked, turning his attentions back to his computer screen. "To what do I owe this surprise visit from the man himself?"

Ivan examined Matthias' office, running a finger over one object every now and then. "You need to dust in here." he commented, picking up an apple from the fruit bowl on the coffee table. "I'm just here to talk, Matthias—"

"Hopefully not about cleaning my office," A hollow joke. Matthias set his laptop aside and made eye contact with the Russian, who was now seated in a love seat across from him. "I'm surprised my security hasn't booted your ass out of the building yet. Surely Eron must have called them by now. You're trespassing, Braginski. I could press charges if I wanted to."

The Russian chortled. "Oh, I think your boys will be on a bit of a delay. Some of my men are jamming the elevators."

"How messy. You just want to slow me down, don't you?"

"Probably."

"Funny. What do you want?"

Ivan observed the room once again and settled on Matthias. "I want Urd-Rikke."

Now that was unexpected- this was a sit-down. Matthias cocked an eyebrow and leaned forward. "You want to buy out the Køhler name?"

"Precisely."

The Dane threw his head back with a snort. "You're kidding, right? Have those drugs gotten to your head?"

Ivan shook his head. "No, I'm quite sober. But I'd love to get rid of your competition. Your runts are giving my men far too much trouble and I'd like to get you off my bad side. That, and Urd-Rikke is everywhere, purchasing your name would give FuseNet everything it needs to become an industrial empire."

"Okay, Braginski, I'm gonna stop you right there." Matthias waved his hands and rose from the couch. "I'm sure you've prepared your monologue countless times in front of a mirror, but I don't want to hear it. It's only going to put me to sleep, so do yourself a favour and save your breath."

Ivan pouted. "It's not very polite to interrupt someone when they're talking, Mister Køhler."

"And it's not very polite to barge in unannounced, Mister Braginski."As if on cue, the building's security filed into the office standing at attention. The Dane pointed towards the uninvited guest. "See to it that this man is taken off the premises."

"Aw, and I was hoping I'd be able to stay a bit longer. I wanted to take a little tour of my new office building." The Russian began marching out of the room and he glanced over his shoulder at Matthias. "So sorry we couldn't come to any kind of agreement. I know that you'll regret it soon."

Matthias gestured for the men to lead Ivan out and just as they were leaving Berwald walked in with confused look. "Why was Ivan here? Did I miss something?"

The Dane shook his head. "You missed nothing but a lunatic's raving,"

* * *

><p><span><em><strong>Author's Note:<strong> __There has been so much internal debating to come to a consensus with the ending for this chapter. I tried reaching out to some friends for help but they were all just like "do what you want bruh". It was not a fun time. However, I am very happy with the turn out of the chapter._

_Big thanks to my beta readers XxGeoAngelxX and LePetitPappillon. An even bigger thanks to LPP over there, like, I don't even know, there were things she pointed out that I didn't even catch and it was p great._

_See you next chapter...!_


	3. Chapter 2

It had been a few days since the Dane's encounter with Ivan. In fact, he hadn't given the visit a thought since the Russian left his office. Matthias sat focused on a woman with yellowed teeth, wiry raven black hair, and a crooked nose.

"I'll ask you one last time," he started, gritting his teeth. "Tell me where you're stashing the cash. I know you've been taking from our reserves for some time, Miss Ravn. There's no sense in hiding it now."

The woman's lower lip quivered as she vigorously shook her head, exclaiming excuses such as "I didn't do it", "it wasn't me", "I don't know what you're talking about."  
>Matthias drug a hand down his face, resting his hand just below the top of his lip. Honestly, why was this life glorified? There was absolutely nothing fantastic about running a mafia, especially when a majority of the clients were just like the shaking woman in front of him.<p>

"Miss Ravn," Matthias rose out of the chair due to his growing impatience, "You must know what this business means to me. I love my job, I really do. And, because of this love, my job is very difficult. I need money to pay my employees as equally as possible, I need to be able to pay my dues to the government, and there are charities that need donations- the list goes on and on. But how am I to do this when people like yourself—" Matthias tapped on the woman's forehead, "continuously steal from my company?" Ravn was trembling, her eyes darting from one side to another; a bead of sweat rolled down her temple, and she had resulted to biting her lips. A sly smirk spread across Matthias' lips. The Dane stood with his heels together and his hands behind his back. "I give you credit for somehow being able to hack into one of the banking accounts but that's not the issue here. Miss Ravn, please, just tell me where you've hidden the money and you will get off easy."

After another bout of denials and even a wave of tears, Matthias finally got the information he needed out of her. "Thank you very much for your cooperation, Miss Ravn." The Dane grinned politely, stepping aside as a pair of his mob men walked inside.

"I get to go now, right?" Ravn sputtered, "Nothing's gonna happen to me, right?"

Matthias blinked blankly, cocking his head to the side. "Huh? What are you going on about?"

Ravn gulped. "You said th-that if I told you where the money was you'd let me go."

"Oh, but you misheard me, Miss Ravn." Matthias started, "I said that'd I'd let you off easy, but I can't just simply have a criminal running around the streets, free to do as she pleases with the earnings of others."

The woman's lip quivered. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Matthias responded with only a smile as he turned to his men. "Alright boys, I'm leaving this up to you. Just be sure to clean up if things get messy."

"Yessir,"

The Dane didn't give so much as a second glance as he strode out of the interrogation room. He pulled up his sleeve to check his watch which read 2:21. Not too shabby, looks like he'd have some time to stop by a café and grab a mocha before heading back to the office.

...

There was an unusual bustle going on when Matthias arrived at the company building. Voices deep in debate halls and camera flashes reflected off the walls creating a rather uneasy atmosphere.

"Herr Andersson," called one of the ladies at the front desk, "Lukas would like to have a word with you."

Matthias cocked an eyebrow, taking a leisurely sip of coffee. "What of? Am I in trouble?"

"You see the press as much as I do," she remarked.

"Fair enough," The Dane went off on his way, jumping into an elevator just before its doors closed. Once he reached his office, Matthias found Lukas and Berwald standing around his desk.

Lukas looked up from the desktop screen and waved his lover over. "Have you checked the news lately?"

Matthias shook his head, joining the others and propping his arm on the back of his armchair. "Not recently. Why?" Lukas gestured towards the screen and sat back, folding his arms across his chest.

His eyes immediately noticed the bold headline which read **Urd-Rikke Accused of Embezzlement. **As he skimmed through the article, he recognized some of the listed names- all of which were stationed in certain places all around Europe. Others were German, Polish, or French, but most of which were definitely under the influence of the mafia. "And where exactly did this come from?" Matthias asked finally. "It isn't a big name... Independent journalist?"

"It's a minor printing company," Berwald mentioned. "I did a little digging on the subject and it turns out that business is owned by the Russians themselves,"

Matthias snorted. "Then why is this an issue? All we gotta do is sue FuseNet for its accusation and ride it off as slander."

"Well we haven't been prosecuted for anything yet," Lukas pointed out, glancing down at his watch and handing Matthias a few sheets of paper. "I scribbled down some notes for you since you'll be going into this so suddenly. Read them on the way down,"

The Dane only had so long to process that before he finally got the message. "Press conference... That explains the commotion in the lobby."

"There isn't any solid evidence to prove the claims, so, for now, do what you do best- bullshit." Berwald clapped his friend on the shoulder before he went off.

Once Matthias left the office floor, getting around the building was an absolute nightmare. The bustle in the building was not of the kind Matthias was used to, and it led to the slightest of irritation. His cool demeanour was waning into frustration as he refrained from shouting his way through the masses of people crowded around cubicles and gathered in varied spaces around every corner of every floor. As Matthias finally reached the lobby floor, two of his mob men rallied up at his sides and escorted him the rest of the way to the press room.

Before his entry, the ones attending the press conference—the paparazzi, journalists, and news reporters—were engaged in civilized conversation. However, as soon as he set foot in the room the camera flashes began to pick up and the chatter quickly grew into shouting.

"_Herr Andersson! Herr Andersson! _What are you to do with such an accusation?"

"Is it true, have you been stealing from the companies of Europe?"

"Are there any words you have to say to the author of the article? Whomever he or she may be?"

Questions were thrown at Matthias from every direction as he approached the podium in the middle of the room. Straightening his tie and clearing his throat, Matthias raised the mic up slightly before speaking.

"I would like to start this conference by saying that the accusation of embezzling are complete and utter lies published without any evidence to support the claims." It had only been moments since Matthias commenced the meeting and the room was already silent save the clicks of cameras and the hum of the air conditioning. A familiar air of confidence and arrogance emitted from Matthias' very being as he spoke. If there was anything Berwald was right about, it was that he was the master of bullshitting—or, if you want to be politically correct, debate. Those sapphire eyes of his scanned through the crowd, taking note of the journalists jotting down his words. No doubt that some would twist his words, but there would be repercussions for their failure to maintain authenticity.

"If the claims were in fact true then not only would the _Spiegel_ be all over the case, but the rest of Eastern Europe as well. However, if there is anything I can be liable for, I shall confess to collecting my profits from the companies I own."

A hand shot up from the crowd and Matthias gave him the go ahead. Rising from his seat, the man said, "So, _Herr _Køhler, what do you have to say to the newspaper it was published in? Do you plan to sue?"

Matthias shook his head. "Not at all. I wouldn't be surprised if someone such as my rival Ivan Braginski hired a high schooler to write this article." The room rumbled with a soft chuckle. "However, if something such as this is ever to happen again, I will make the proper legal actions are taken."

It only took twenty minutes for the entire ordeal to be shot down and vanquished from the minds of those who attended the meeting, and merely a couple of hours for the rest of the European public.

Nonetheless, Matthias was still left with mountains of desk work. Because of the brouhaha overtaking the entire building, emails, phone calls, and meetings were backed up for about two days and the Dane couldn't be any more devastated. For the rest of the afternoon into the evening, Matthias worked diligently to complete a good bit of his deskwork. He'd left the duties of re-scheduling appointments to Lukas, as was his job as his secretary. But now he was in desperate need of a distraction.

Nearly a quarter past ten and Matthias was still slaving away; however he had moved from his desk to the couch. His tie lay strewn on the arm of the couch, his shoes underneath the armchair, his shirt slightly unbuttoned, and his jacket draped on the back of the sofa. With an almost fifteen hour work day, the Dane set aside some paperwork and pulled his laptop onto his thighs to answer some emails.

There was a knock at the door and Lukas filed in immediately after with a cup of coffee in his hand. "You know you can do this work at home," he stated, setting the beverage on the coffee table. "There's no use in you toiling over work like that here,"

"I know that," Matthias sighed, dragging a hand down his face and reaching for a sip of coffee. "I'd just rather not have the stress tomorrow."

Lukas responded with a nod and straddled his partner. The Dane lazily wrapped an arm around Lukas's waist in response, a smile playing on his lips.

"Can't get any work done like this though," Matthias teased.

Lukas shrugged, kissing his cheek. "You could use a break,"

Matthias hummed, wrapping the other arm around his lover. "I thought you said this wasn't included in your contract."

"Oh shut up,"

The Dane chuckled, kissing Lukas' forehead gently. The pair laid in that position for a few minutes exchanging kisses and tales of their day. It wasn't often Matthias and Lukas had such moments like this at work. At home, Lukas would open up with the ease only capable with knowing someone for years, yet in public they barely showed affection outside of hand holding and the occasional kiss on the cheek. It was a lovely moment gone too soon.

"Mister Bondevik, there's a pack—oh… Um, if I'm interrupting something, I'll just, er, go…" It was Eron. Poor kid turned the brightest shade of pink.

"It's all right, Eron," Lukas reassured, pushing himself off of Matthias with a slight sigh. "Your shift ended a while ago. Why haven't you gone home?"

Eron's cheeks only got brighter. "That's, that's not important. Sir," he uttered to Matthias, looking over Lukas' shoulder, "there's a package for you waiting in the lobby."

The Dane cocked an eyebrow, "Is that so? At this hour? Who's the sender?"

The boy shrugged. "It doesn't say,"

Anonymity—an immediate red light. "Lukas," the Norwegian glanced over to Matthias, "go find Ber and the two of you can investigate."

Now Lukas raised an eyebrow. Matthias knew better than to even consider such a delivery, but he complied regardless. "Get your work done while you wait," Lukas ordered, fixing his collar.

"But aren't you the one who said I could use a break?" A smirk grew on his lips as a scowl rose on Lukas' before he and Eron walked out of his office. Reclining back in the couch, Matthias closed his eyes and drifted off awaiting Lukas' return.

_I hate messy jobs, _Eron thought as he lay Lukas against the wall. He'd expected the Norwegian to put up more of a fight before chloroforming him but it was no matter. Whatever made this night easier.

Working undercover for as long as he had been, Eron had memorized the shift hours and patrol areas of the Danish-run company. About now there would be a change in shifts. He would only have a few minutes to complete his mission before eyes were on the surveillance cameras again. Eron slipped behind Lukas' desk and pulled open the first drawer. Lifting up the false bottom revealed a pistol and a box of ammo. He picked up the weapon and after checking the clip, took the gun off safety and moved towards Matthias' office.

Eron was in the dark as for reasons for ending the man's life so quickly, but that wasn't any of his business from the start. This mission was as simple as any other: terminate the target.

Cocking the gun, Eron slowly pushed the door of Matthias' office open and slipped inside. The Dane lay with his hands behind his head snoring softly.

"Perfect," The boy tiptoed over to his side and pointed the end of the barrel at Matthias' temple. His index finger rose to the trigger and just as he did so the snoring stopped. Eron's heart stopped and the gun moved away from his head. A million scenarios occupied Eron's thought process. What if Matthias were to wake up? It would surely be the end of his free days. Sure, he had the upper hand in this situation—he was the one with the weapon after all—but underneath Matthias was a legion of mobsters who wouldn't hesitate to avenge their dead boss. He dropped his gaze down to the end of the barrel for far too long, but he couldn't seem to out his focus back on the target.

Needless to say, Eron was snapped out of his daze when the Dane's snoring picked up once again. The boy exhaled silently, putting the barrel up to Matthias' temple once again.

A gun cocked behind him. "Drop it," A deep voice, heavily accented.

"Shit,"

"Drop the gun, now," This time it was louder and Eron felt a barrel pressing up again his back.

With a sigh, he let the gun fall to the floor and he turned around to greet a tall, stoic blond with piercing blue eyes. "Hello, Ber,"

There wasn't a response. Berwald grabbed the boy by his wrists and cuffed him. "Sloppy as always,"

"You've only just met me." Eron pointed out as he was forced into a chair.

"You've been here for months."

"Doesn't mean you know me."

Berwald paused, reaching down to grab the pistol the boy had dropped and removed the magazine. Once that was done, he turned his attention back to Eron. "You're right, I don't know you, _Eron_." Most likely a fake name, from Berwald's experience.

An unreadable expression rose onto "Eron's" face, and a small smile grew on his lips.

The Swede narrowed his eyes and dragged Matthias off the couch and he fell with a thud. "Get up, idiot."

"_Ex-fucking-cuse you_?!" Matthias groaned, rubbing the shoulder that broke his fall. "Why the _hell_ did you—oh…" Grog that clouded his eyes cleared to show his friend pointing to the secretary's assistant cuffed and lounging in a chair. "Well… Hello there, Eron,"

"Go get your boyfriend. He's knocked out in the hall," Berwald instructed, cracking his knuckles before looking over to "Eron". "So, your real name?"

Eron cocked an eyebrow. "You wouldn't happen to know a thing or two about confidentiality, would you?" Berwald's glare intensified and the boy could only sigh.

"Fine… Tino. My name is Tino."

"Well then Tino, as soon as we're able, we'll be having a few words with you." Matthias announced, dusting himself off. "Ber, take him down to the basement. I assume you won't need any extra help."

"Not at all," Berwald hoisted Tino onto his feet and led him out of the office.

Matthias watched them go until they turned the corner and sighed heavily, running his fingers through his hair. "And to think this night couldn't get any longer."

* * *

><p><em><span><strong>Author's<strong>** Note:** This is prolly the fastest I will ever have a chapter uploaded so don't get too excited. I apologize for the shortness of this chapter, but initially it was part of the previous one, but it fit better standing alone._

_I would like to thank my editors XxGeoAngelxX and LePetitPapallion for dealing with all of my crap and making that crap into something good._

_See you next chapter...!_


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